


The Third of July

by Red



Series: "Lessons" Verse [5]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Biting, Canon Disabled Character, Charles is a Tease, Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M, Nipple Play, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Semi-Public Sex, sink jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1919418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/pseuds/Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Charles finds an automatic soap dispenser, and Erik finds how ridiculous his boyfriend is. </p><p>Yes, it's <i>yet more sink!porn</i> brought about by tumblr gifs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third of July

**Author's Note:**

> SUPER THANKS AGAIN to tumblr user sweetlyenchains. You can see her gif find [right here](http://sweetlyenchains.tumblr.com/post/89594310974/hederafleuron-i-have-done-this-same-thing-when). 
> 
> Bonus: on Erik's list, [this](http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2013/11/19/article-2509748-19802B2A00000578-395_634x886.jpg) is a Sears-appropriate v-neck. [This is not](http://37.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lztqb1LSUv1qa3xzio3_400.jpg).

They get about halfway through the appliances before Charles starts acting distracted.

Erik doesn’t expect anything else. He didn’t expect Charles to be tuned in during the expedition at all. The only reason Erik bothered to bring him along is because it’s _Charles_ who has a beyond-repair dishwasher and it’s actually _his_ purchase, and even if he tried everything short of mindwhiping Erik to get out of this there are just some things adults must suffer. So when Charles’s glazed “I have no clue what NSF certification is or why I’d want it” expression becomes more of a “I’m checked out and reading every last person in Sears, I’m so bored,” it’s no surprise. 

When Charles suddenly pinches his ass when he’s debating how many sprayer arms a dishwasher reasonably needs? _That’s_ a bit more of a shock.

“ _Charles_ ,” Erik hisses, swatting back the offending hand as he scans for witnesses. “Concentrate. This is important.” 

Charles beams up at him. Erik almost sighs. 

Now he’s gone straight to the “I’ve just overheard something interesting” look. 

“Just get the one that’s got the least plastic bits, that’s all you’re thinking anyhow. Besides--I just overheard something interesting.” 

“Of _course_ you did.” 

“Don’t be so suspicious!” Charles protests. His hands are folded demurely in his lap, as if he isn’t going to be all grabby the minute Erik turns his back. Charles looks up at him pleadingly, eyes wide. “They’re _dishwashers_. I’ll pick one out in a second, they’ll keep. I just… need your assistance in the men’s room.”

Erik makes an exasperated sigh. Of _course_ he does. 

The scope of Erik’s assistance is generally limited to being, quote, “nice to look at.” If not worse, that is, and he folds his arms. 

This isn’t going to be like that time at IKEA. 

“Hey, _you_ started that one,” Charles claims, affronted. “And anyway, you’ll like this. It’s for your benefit. Please?” 

Ugh, Erik thinks, looking away at the row of dishwashers. That face--how does Charles even do it? It’s unreal. 

“Is it a _private_ restroom?” he asks. He’s got his dignity, after all. 

“Anything’s private when you can weld the door shut. Let’s go,” Charles says, cheerfully. Erik watches him wheel off down the aisle for a moment, before he grumbles to himself-- _how does he always wind up agreeing to these things?_ \--and following. 

The men’s room is, of course, not a single-stall. 

It’s also thankfully empty, and _suspiciously_ clean and updated.

Charles turns, eyebrow raised, as Erik finishes melding door to wall. 

“How can something be ‘suspiciously’ modern?” 

“It’s a _Sears_.” Sometimes Erik wonders how Charles makes it through life, being this naive. 

“You’re absurd,” Charles says, apparently unconvinced of the sinister nature of the bathroom, and he heads toward the sink. 

There’s an accessible sink. Erik looks around again. There’s even one of those changing stations. In a men’s room. This is the--

“Erik! There was probably a lawsuit,” Charles interrupts. “Now--I picked up on this from some easily impressed teenagers--”

“Always a good sign.” 

“--Don’t interrupt, you’ll like it. Get over here.” 

Hesitant, Erik takes his time stepping close to the sink. 

“Here I am. Impress me.” 

For his trouble, Charles swats his ass, and not gently. Then Charles reaches over for--the soap dispenser? 

It’s the sort with a motion detector (and so is the sink and the paper towels and there’s even a paper towel dispenser at a reasonable, ADA-guideline height, and if Charles doesn’t find this all a little odd Erik really needs to take him on more suburban field trips), so he’s not quite sure what Charles is up to when he grabs the base of it. 

And then, very quickly, he _is_. 

“Oh, no,” he mumbles.

“Oh, yes,” Charles answers. He’s grinning like he’s going to have the time of his life jacking off a _soap dispenser_. 

“Some teenagers thought of this?”

“Enterprising youth,” Charles acknowledges. “Don’t worry, they washed their hands first. And after. And they didn’t possess your-- _personal_ interest--in the matter.” 

Resigned, Erik makes himself comfortable, leaning against the back of Charles’s chair. “All right, let’s see it,” he sighs, and Charles starts in. 

Since the first time with the kitchen sink, Charles has made it a personal mission to seek inert objects to perform sexual acts upon in lieu of, say, just _having sex with his boyfriend_. Erik tries not to complain, even if it’s intermittently ridiculous (see: the flagpole incident) and at times outright dangerous (see: the leafblower incident). There _have_ been other successful finds, though nothing has quite lived up to Charles’s kitchen for Erik. He’s not sure what to expect, now. 

At first, it’s the standard feel of Charles’s hand on metal. Then, he’s pumping on it, up and down, sharp rough strokes. It’s the same motion he uses when he’s really working Erik, trying to force him to the edge and make him come, and Erik breathes in sharply. Where he is, draped over Charles’s back, he’s tucked in close enough to just smell Charles’s body--soap and sweat from their walk from his car, the heat of summer amplified by the parking lot--and not industrial bathroom cleaner. And he’s got a good angle to watch the pull of Charles’s muscles, to really appreciate his bare, freckled arms. 

As he… jerks off a soap dispenser. 

Charles angles his head, glancing over his shoulder. 

“How is it for you?” he asks, still pumping away. Normally, that’d be a good out for Erik-- _not feeling it, let’s look at the Maytags again_ \--but it _is_ a nice view and obviously Charles is quite keen on this plot, so he shrugs. 

“Hmm. Give it a minute?” 

Charles smirks, and starts pumping a little faster. “My thoughts exactly,” he says. 

There’s really not much to it, though. The alloy’s not that great, the entire underside of the dispenser is plastic anyway. But then, all too soon, he realizes what Charles intended with this whole ruse. 

He senses the soap just before it starts. Charles jerks the dispenser in one last, long base-to-tip stroke, and with that he trips the motion sensor, and the dispenser--

Well. It does what it was built for, it dispenses soap. But it does so quick and hard, two bursts of thick white fluid spurting over dark tile, and Erik can’t help himself.

Tucking his face against Charles’s neck, he smirks. You can see why a couple teenagers would be thinking about this hard enough to distract any passing telepaths. 

“Hey!” Charles protests as Erik shakes, trying not to laugh too hard. “You mean… you didn’t…?”

Erik fights to get the words out between his laughter. “I-- No! Of course not. Didn’t you see it?” 

“Well, yes, but I thought it’d be more,” and Charles raises his hand in a bad mimic of Erik’s usual gesture. 

Collecting himself, Erik kisses Charles’s neck before straightening. “I’m sorry, I know you were expecting a different reaction. Don’t take it personally--it was half plastic anyway,” he explains. _And all absurd_. 

Charles still looks a little dubious. At least he’s got his hands back to himself and off any public bathroom fixtures. 

“It’s not a commentary on your skill,” Erik promises, and--because Charles has been teasing him all day, and it’s an obscenely low-cut v-neck that’s easily taken care of--he reaches down to pull off Charles’s shirt. “But just because I didn’t, doesn’t mean I won’t return the favor.” 

“You don’t-- _oh_ , well, you _can_ , of course--” 

Kneeling down between Charles’s legs--he’ll have to bleach these pants, but it’s worth it--he smirks as he leans in again to lick broadly over one of Charles’s hardening nipples. He wraps his arms around Charles’s back, gripping firm at his shoulders as he flicks his tongue against it, fast and hard. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Charles repeats, both hands clutching at Erik’s head, holding him on as Charles arches under his touch. In their connection, Erik can sense Charles is stunned. He doesn’t know why. Of the two of them, Charles is the one with a bit of an exhibitionist’s streak, the one who is more keen on causing trouble in public (see: IKEA, flagpoles, leafblowers that are still very much the property of Home Depot), and he’s the one wearing practically nothing. 

“I am not,” Charles complains, breathless. He moans, twisting as Erik presses his teeth sharply against the tight flesh. “It’s a--mm, yeah, you can do that again--a perfectly standard v-neck. They’re fashionable.” 

It’s surprising Charles ever figured out “fashionable,” but yes, they are. And Charles looks devastatingly good in one. But the offending garment is _not_ standard. Erik has no clue where he got it, and wherever he did it, they were definitely marketing it to be worn _layered_ , not alone. 

Erik nips him again, just hard enough that Charles moans for him, and pulls back for a second. 

“You know, if I bit you right here,” he muses, brushing a kiss against Charles, mid-sternum, “It would show.” 

Charles gasps in a breath, fingers tightening in Erik’s close-cropped hair. 

“You’d like that,” Erik says, grazing his teeth over the spot lightly, “You’ll go out there, you’ll order your dishwasher, and the clerk will take one look at us and you’ll hear him think, _they’ve been fucking in the men’s room_ \--” 

“Shit! Erik, do it, _do it_ ,” he begs, and Erik can’t resist. He does, he gets the taut skin over Charles’s sternum between his teeth and sucks as hard as he can, worries it roughly so it’s sure to leave a mark, to grow into a bruise. Charles makes a sharp, startled noise, and he’s already coming. Erik can sense it building in Charles’s body, he doesn’t need anything else, but it’s too tempting not to just let go of Charles’s shoulders and pinch at his nipples instead. 

Charles curses loud enough that Erik is momentarily worried they actually _will_ be caught, welded-door or not. But when Charles collapses back, satisfied and panting, Erik can’t hear any commotion at all. He does a cursory check of himself--brushing a hand down the front of his pants, he finds he’s only half-hard and he thankfully didn’t come when Charles did--before getting up from his knees. 

“Mmmm,” Charles manages. Rubbing the heel of one hand over the blooming mark on his chest, he looks incredibly satisfied. Erik stretches, one of his knees making a satisfying pop, and after a short while Charles looks him over, speculative. 

“You good?” 

“Mm-hmm,” Erik confirms, washing up at the offending sink. “I’ll keep,” he quotes. Already, he can feel his arousal banking down, now that Charles isn’t broadcasting _his_ all over the place.

“If you’re sure,” Charles says, pulling his shirt back over his head. Erik busies himself with the door. 

The mark is glaring, obvious. He can see the imprint of teeth. 

“Well, perhaps not for long,” he admits, and when Charles smirks and wheels in a bit closer Erik steps back, gesturing the door open. 

“So you better get back out here and choose something. The sale stops tomorrow, and you’re not taking me _anywhere_ on the fourth.” 

“Well, if we’ll be shut in regardless, maybe they sell all-metal--”

“We don’t need an automatic soap dispenser,” Erik interrupts, nudging at Charles’s chair with his powers. “We need a dishwasher. Now come on, you’ve got salespeople to horrify.” 

And when _that’s_ what finally gets Charles Xavier to willingly listen to the difference between eco- fan- and air-dry, Erik’s not surprised at all.


End file.
